


now these days are feeling dark

by drunkonyou



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter inaccuracies, M/M, Muggle/Wizard Relations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-22 00:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonyou/pseuds/drunkonyou
Summary: When is a better time to tell your Muggle boyfriend you're a wizard than when his life is in danger?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> surprise! i'm back! and i completely revamped my account, aka deleting almost everything i've ever written LMAO fresh start anyone?  
> i actually started writing this fic a couple years ago, and already posted two chapters of it, but i felt bad that i pretty much abandoned it so i decided to edit it VERY thoroughly and repost it (and i promise to actually go through with it this time) so here it is!  
> title from snakes by bastille

There’s an owl at Louis’s window. He blinks once, twice, hoping maybe he could just skip paying for his post this morning, but then the little bugger pecks at the glass with so much force he’s afraid it may shatter and he’s hauling himself out of bed.

“Alright, alright,” he slides his feet into a pair of slippers and shuffles across the carpet to the window. “ _Merlin’s alarm clock,_ Niall is too right with that one. Yes, good morning.”

Louis plucks a little bronze Knut from the candy dish he keeps on the windowsill and tucks it into the satchel tied around the owls leg, then pulls his rolled up _Daily Prophet_ from its beak and shuts the window.

He flicks and swishes his wand on his journey through the house, transfiguring and charming every speck of magic until it’s Muggle-worthy. His house-elf Poppy, a little gray thing with large eyes and even larger ears, is standing on a stepstool at the stove when Louis steps into the kitchen. She’s flipping over an omelette fit for a king and bobbing her head along to _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_ playing from the old radio on the counter.

“Morning, Pop,” he greets, voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning, Master Louis, sir!” She snaps her fingers and two steaming mugs of coffee float from the counter to the table. Louis breathes in a deep breath as they pass by him. “Poppy is almost being done with you and Mister Harry’s breakfast, oh yes, and then Poppy will stay in her room until he leaves.”

“That boy is coming over again?” comes a disgruntled shout from the living room.

Louis pops his head around the doorframe and smiles at the portrait hanging over the fireplace. “We are dating, Grandad. That’s what you do.”

His grandfather props his head in his hand. “Your Nan and I rarely saw each other when I was alive…”

There’s a knock at the front door and Poppy goes flying from the kitchen and up the stairs like a skittish cat. Louis shakes his head at her and goes through his mental checklist on his way to the door.

Lock the Floo and set up the Anti-Apparition wards in case of any unwanted visitors? _Check._

Cast _Immobulus_ on all the moving photographs? _Check_.

Charm the _Prophet_ so that it looks like any Muggle newspaper to any Muggle eye? _Check—_

“Lou, open the door! It’s cold as balls out here!”

Louis pulls open the door and comes face to face with a very grumpy-looking Harry Styles. It’s been nearly a year now and he still isn’t used to having a Muggle show up on his doorstep. He’s swaddled up in a long, black peacoat and scarf and bouncing on the balls of his feet. The second the door is open he’s shoving his way inside.

“Christ, love, why didn’t you wear your snow boots? Your toes are going to freeze!” He helps Harry pull off his coat while he kicks off his very damp suede boots. He weighs the pros and cons of casting a quick warming charm on him. He decides against it.

“I wasn’t thinking, plus they match my scarf,” he presses a cold kiss to Louis’s mouth. “Why didn’t you answer my text? I almost didn’t stop over.”

Louis can’t help but laugh as he guides Harry into the kitchen where two full plates of eggs and bacon and hash are waiting for them. “Always the dramatic.”

He didn’t tell Harry that sometimes he forgets he even _owns_ a bloody cellphone. He is the sole reason Louis owns one in the first place, after all. He actually quite enjoys owning one, though he’d never admit it. The World Wide Web is a truly wonderful and terrifying place.

“You’re right. I’d probably come over anyways because your omelettes are just _so damn good_.”

Louis nearly says _“I’ll be sure to let Poppy know”_ , but instead just snorts. It wouldn’t be a normal day if he didn’t almost slip-up in front of Harry at least one or two or ten times. Just last week he was about to _Accio_ a drink from the refrigerator while they were watching a film at his flat before he realized what he was doing.

While Harry is taking his place at the table and swallowing a large gulp of coffee to warm the January chill in his bones, Louis fiddles with the dials on the radio until it switches over from WWN to BBC.

“Who was that? Ella Fitzgerald?”

Louis wants to laugh imagining the look on Celestina Warbeck’s face if she ever knew she was mistaken for a Muggle singer. “Dunno, actually.”

They eat in silence for a bit, metal against ceramic and the rustling of the paper lending a soundtrack for their very serene morning. Every so often Harry will snake his chilly toes up Louis’s calf.

After a while, Harry asks, “What’s the weather gonna be like this weekend?”

“What do I look like, a psychic?”

Harry rolls his eyes and reaches across the table to point at a spot in the _Prophet_ that Louis spread out next to his plate. His finger lands right on an advertisement for a new _Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes_ product.

Before he can answer though, the mail slot _clinks_ from the entrance hall and he waits for that second telltale _clink_ before standing from the table. It took a few weeks for the post owls to finally start following the Muggle mailman and shoving his mail through the little metal slit in the door instead of tapping on his kitchen window, but eventually they got the hang of it. He had to feign a call to Animal Control so Harry would stop asking about all the stray owls.

Louis sorts through his Muggle bills until he gets to the few manila-colored pieces of parchment at the bottom of the small pile. One is a letter from his mum asking him if he could stop over sometime soon to help her get rid of a nasty nest of Doxies she found in her basement, another is a letter from his second eldest sister Félicité panicking over her upcoming O.W.L.s, and the last is a piece of parchment with chicken scratch writing on it that says simply:

  _floo over as soon as possible_

_nh_

Swallowing a groan, Louis tucks the wizard mail into the pocket that isn’t occupied by his wand and shuffles back into the kitchen. He’s supposed to be in to work in an hour; what’s so important that he must cut his _breakfast_ short? Another teenager set off a Dungbomb in a Muggle toilet?

“Anything interesting?” Harry asks, shoving a forkful of hash into his mouth.

He huffs, slapping down his Muggle mail onto the tabletop. “I just got a text saying I’m needed at work.”

“This early? I thought Dan had you coming in closer to noon?”

Louis is puzzled for a moment. He’s wondering what his step-father has to do with anything until he remembers that, yes, Harry thinks Louis works for Dan’s company, selling _drills_ of all things. Almost a year of dating and he still can’t keep his cover-ups straight.

“He, uh, someone called off.”

Harry pouts, already standing from the table. “See you later then?”

“Of course,” he kisses the pout away. “I’ll drop by after my shift.”

After Harry is gone and the dishes are all cleaned up by a very eager Poppy, Louis dresses in his heavy ruby robes and throws a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace with an annoyed flick of his wrist.

_"Ministry of Magic.”_

  ** _◊◊◊◊_**

Anxiety hangs thick in the air when Louis steps into Auror Headquarters. Everyone is leaning around their little cubicles to whisper conspiratorially to each other. _Finally_ something interesting must have cropped up.

“Lou, Lou! Thank _Merlin_ you’re here,” Niall’s eyes are wide when he reaches him, dare he say _scared_ , and his stomach suddenly roils uncomfortably, as it takes a lot for his friend to look like this. Maybe the nervous energy he feels from his coworkers isn’t the good kind.

“Dark Mark,” he whispers, “Over Diagon Alley. I’d have come get you meself, but I know you had Harry over and all.”

His breakfast threatens to make a reappearance and he swallows roughly. “Bloody, buggering hell. You’re serious?”

Niall nods his head grimly. He’s as pale as a ghost.

The _Dark Mark_ ? That hasn’t been seen for over nineteen years! Not since _Voldemort_ fell! Surely this is just some sick joke.

As if he could read Louis’ mind, Niall says, “I’m not pulling your leg mate, really. Shacklebolt _himself_ headed over there to check it out. Took Sire and Chapman with him. Someone’s _dead_ , Lou.”

“Fuck,” he says lamely.

Niall leans against the wall, picking nervously at his wand. “You said it. I hope in the same of Merlin’s saggy tits this isn’t what I fear it is.”

Louis knows exactly what he’s referring to. It was a term coined by the Ministry not long after the end of the Second War: _Code Black_. It basically means that the Dark side is coming to power again, which is exactly what they’ve been trying to avoid for the past almost _two decades_.

“If You-Know-Who comes back for a second time, I swear I’m AK’ing myself.”

Despite himself, Louis laughs. “Well I wouldn’t go throwing around the Unforgivable Curses just yet, Horan. I don’t think even _Albus Dumbledore_ could bring old snake face back from the dead. I’m betting some Death Eater wannabe is just messing about with the Dark Arts.”

Niall runs a hand through his chestnut hair. “Hopefully. Either way, I’m sure Potter is having a field day.”

Suddenly two miniscule paper airplanes whiz into the room and unfold midair in front of their faces. Louis stands up straighter and squints at the writing. The short note reads:

  _Auror Tomlinson,_

_Please head to my office immediately_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

Louis and Niall look up from their respective pieces of parchment and share a wary look before catching a lift and heading to Level One. When the doors open, Niall and Louis are met with a long purple-carpeted corridor lined with large mahogany doors. Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office sits all the way at the end, and before either of them could even raise their fist to knock on the great door, it’s swinging open and standing before them is the Minister for Magic himself. Behind him is none other than Senior Auror Ron Weasley and Head of the Auror Office Harry Potter. Though the latter doesn’t look thrilled at all. They both have unreadable expressions on their faces.

“Good morning gentlemen, come in,” Shacklebolt guides them into his office and slams the door shut behind them. They both jump slightly. “I’m sure you are aware of the Dark Mark that was seen over Flourish and Blotts this morning at precisely 8:34am?”

“Yes, sir.”

He speaks like he’s pinched for time.“The two of you are very gifted Aurors, and I know your workweek has been quite slow, so I want you to take on this case along with Head Auror Potter and Auror Weasley,” he gestures to the men behind him stiffly. “They will give you the full report. Now if you all could please leave my office for I have a lot of work to do.”

They’re ushered out as quick as they were ushered in and it makes Louis’s head spin. Heaving a great sigh, Ron Weasley hands them each a single sheet of parchment that states all the known details about their new case so far. Louis looks down and sees a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman with auburn hair pulled taught in a bun on the top of her head and thinks she looks vaguely familiar. She may be one of his mum’s friends.

“Why is her blood status on here?” Niall asks, breaking the brief silence.

Louis sees that, yes, the report clearly states that she is Muggle-born. _Isobel Kaling, forty-two-year-old mother of three, Healer at St. Mungo’s,_ Muggle-born _._

“Those on the Dark side are notorious for being prejudice against those sorts of things, Horan,” Harry Potter tells him calmly and starts back down the corridor towards the lifts with Weasley in tow. Louis and Niall follow suit. “If there are any more deaths, which unfortunately I’m sure there will be, we should keep things like blood status in mind because this may very well be a Code Black.”

Louis finds there’s a lump in his throat as he asks, “what does that mean if it is? Voldemort’s _dead_ —sorry, Weasley—and all of his followers are either dead as well or rotting away in Azkaban.”

Potter adjusts his round spectacles and runs a hand through his unruly black hair. “There is a good possibility that this could be the child or sibling or something thereof of a former Death Eater trying to follow in their footsteps.”

“What, like _neo_ -Death Eaters?”

“Don’t look so surprised, you two,” he smiles, though the humor doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah, I mean, in between the First and Second Wizarding Wars, the Death Eaters waited _eleven years_ before coming out of the woodwork,” Weasley tells them.

Niall nearly crumples up the parchment in his hands. Louis doesn’t think he’s seen him look so angry before.

“But that’s only because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came to power again! How can they survive without being able to kiss the Dark Lord’s arse this time?”

The two Senior Auror’s share a look very Niall and Louis-like. He has a point; if there really is a new generation of Death Eaters out there, who’s controlling them? There must be a little man behind the curtain somewhere. It all makes Louis very uneasy.

“There isn’t enough evidence or information to jump to such conclusions just yet,” Potter checks the watch around his wrist and presses the button on the lift. “I suggest worrying when the time comes. For now, stay safe.”

  ** _◊◊◊◊_**

 _Owner of Flourish and Blotts, Marcus Stocks, says that at precisely 8:34 on the quiet morning of the 6th of January, there was a sudden loud, anguished shout outside of his door and he left the shop almost immediately to find Isobel Kaling (42) writhing on the cobblestone ground, obviously suffering from the Cruciatus Curse. Many witches and wizards in the surrounding shops started filing outside to see what all the commotion was. It wasn’t until a few bystanders started shouting in terror did Mr. Stocks follow their pointing fingers and noticed the large, emerald_ Dark Mark _hanging over nearly the exact spot that Mrs. Kaling lay. By the time Healers arrived on the scene, the victim had perished._

_No one who was in Diagon Alley at the time of the incident could tell us who had cast the Morsmordre incantation. The witch or wizard obviously Disapparated before anyone could catch them._

“Hey, Lou. You’re off work early!”

Louis hastily shoves the parchment into the pocket of his jeans, right next to his wand, and twists around on the couch as Harry comes through his front door, plastic bag with a large smiley face printed on the front hanging from his arm. He did indeed get off work early; after the short meeting with Shacklebolt, Weasley, and Potter, he and Niall spoke with Auror Oliver Sire and Auror Edgar Chapman to get their witness reports and decided to head down to the Leaky Cauldron to discuss their new case over a basket of chips.

When they passed Flourish and Blotts, there was a _Closed_ sign hanging on the door and the sky above the small shop was a patch of grey clouds, as if the Dark Mark left a nasty stain to remind everyone walking by of what had happened that morning. The pub was so packed, oddly so for a Monday morning, that they could go over what they know so far without fear of someone overhearing them. Then again, it wouldn’t really matter, would it? The Dark Mark was large enough for all Diagon Alley to see, and news travels fast in the magical community. _Very_ fast.

After two steaming mugs of Butterbeer each, they went back to the Ministry only to be sent home. Apparently, Shacklebolt thinks it would be good for them to have the rest of the day to themselves to mull everything over. And that’s just what Louis did; he and Niall parted ways in the Atrium, each stepping into a fireplace, but once Louis Floo’d home, he changed out of his uncomfortable robes and took his Muggle car over to Harry’s flat, using the little green key that Harry presented him with on their six-month anniversary to get inside. He’s been there since 11am and didn’t even realize that the sun has long since disappeared for he was so enraptured in the incident reports.

“Hi, yeah, it was a-a slow day so I just decided to head over here.”

“I guess Dan really didn’t need you in after all. Shame, we could’ve finally tried that new diner on the corner. I think it’s so silly they close at three.”

Harry leans over the back of the couch, a rogue strand of hair escaping from his wilted bun and falling across his nose as he kisses Louis. Louis breathes in deeply before he pulls away, and then his stomach grumbles. Loudly.

Harry snorts, pulling his shirt out of his pants and Louis snags a glimpse of tan skin peaking out above his waistband. “Work was slow and yet you haven’t eaten yet? What did you do all day?”

Louis slides down the couch so he’s laying horizontally across the plush cushions, ineffectually hiding himself. “I’ve been…reading.” Which is not technically a lie.

“Reading what?” He hears Harry walk into the kitchen, setting his keys and other pocketable items down on the wooden table. A coin falls to the floor.

Louis mentally scans through Harry’s bookshelf and pauses on the first thing he recognizes. “ _Dorian Gray_.”

“Oh, really?”

“No, I fell asleep, actually.” _Stupid._

Harry gives a teasing scoff. “You’re such an arse. Don’t joke about that because I would _love_ to take you down to the theater to see _The Importance of Being Earnest_.”

“Maybe,” Louis pushes himself off the couch and steps into the kitchen where Harry is setting out white Chinese food cartons. “So how was your day?”

“Good,” Harry dumps a handful of soy sauce and spicy mustard packets onto the table, followed by more than enough fortune cookies. “Set camp at the library for a while and managed to get a couple more chapters done, then I bugged Gemma at work until she gave in and got lunch with me. Oh! and I finally got an oil change. My poor car wasn’t going to last much longer in this snow.”

Louis watches Harry flit around the kitchen in bare feet like a bumblebee, getting plates and forks and a mountain of napkins, with a fondness unfurling in his stomach. “You know I can’t wait to read that book of yours. How long have you been working on it now?”

“Since the moment I dropped out of Uni,” he pries the lid off a plastic container of chicken and broccoli and Louis watches as the lid drips condensation on the tabletop. “So...too long. But you know since work gave me more hours it's been hard trying to find time to work on it.”

Louis laughs and catches Harry’s wrist as he tries to squeeze around him, brings his hand to his lips, kisses his palm. Harry’s cheeks glow a shade not dissimilar to the cup of sweet and sour sauce sitting amidst their conglomeration of take-away.

“You’re being soft tonight,” he whispers.

“I just love you.”

Harry flashes a blinding smile that reminds Louis of himself of when he first received his Hogwarts letter.

“I love you, too.”

Louis feels his lungs swell in his chest. It’s been almost four months since they started saying the _L_ word, but every time still feels like the first. He goes in for a kiss but Harry holds his fingers against his lips. Louis smiles.

“After I shower.”

“Can I join you for said shower?”

Harry steps back, shaking his head. “ _No_ , last time you _joined me_ Gem ripped me a new one because you came all over her shampoo bottle. Go pick a movie to watch or something.”

Louis’s ears grow warm with embarrassment. Harry’s _sister_. _Really_. He doesn’t miss having roommates, not one bit.

He watches Harry pull his shirt over his head before slipping around the corner and into the bathroom, letting out a wolf whistle and getting a half-amused half-embarrassed _piss off_ in response. When he hears the water flick on, he sits down at the kitchen table and pulls one of the pieces of parchment from his pocket. He then takes out his wand and taps the parchment with the tip, straightening out all the folds and creases. Louis stares down at the victim’s profile for the umpteenth time that day.

 **Name:** _Isobel Rose Kaling_

 **Date of Birth:** _21st October, 1975 (42 years of age)_

 **Blood status:** _Muggle-born_

 **Spouse:** _Samuel Winston Kaling (Half-blood)_

 **Children:** _Rowen (12), Jackson (9), Austen (5)_

 **Occupation:** _Healer in the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

 **Cause of Death:** _heart failure brought on by the Cruciatus Curse_

Louis has  looked at death reports hundreds if not _thousands_ of times, so why is now so different? Why is looking down at this woman’s laughing face making him feel so uneasy? He knows the reason, it’s this little niggle in the back of his mind that’s trying to let him know that whatever this is, whatever is going on, it’s big. Not _Third Wizarding War_ big, hopefully, but big. _Dangerous_. He just doesn’t want to think about it.

Harry comes out of the bathroom not fifteen minutes later in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a thin white T-shirt that sticks to his damp torso. His sopping hair frames his gorgeous face, and as Louis returns the parchment and his wand back to his pocket carefully, he thinks, _no matter what is happening, I will keep Harry safe._

**_◊◊◊◊_ **

Louis decided to take on this case with an air of confidence and optimism. He kept telling himself that he’s not scared, that everything will be fine, but two weeks after the Dark Mark appeared over Flourish and Blotts, another one showed up over an _Avada Kadavra_ ’d body in the alley behind The Three Broomsticks in the little village of Hogsmeade, and eight days after that, another over a man who suffered from the Entrail-Expelling Curse on the doorstep of his own flat. All the victims were Muggle-born.

Louis has found himself going into work earlier every morning and coming home later every night, arms seemingly always overflowing with paperwork and books and veins pumping caffeine instead of blood. He, Niall, Potter, and Weasley have been working tirelessly trying to figure out what the fuck is going on and who’s doing it, but it’s been to no avail. Everyone at the Ministry is strung as tight as a violin and stressed beyond belief, not to mentioned _worried_. And yet they keep putting off sending out official notices to the wizarding community. Denial hangs thick in the air.

He feels like he constantly has a Hippogriff perched on his shoulder, pushing him down into the ground and he’s been taking it out on Harry. Poor, lovely Harry must put up with Louis’s constant grumbling and bearing the brunt of his snappish moods, which is more often than not lately. Harry hasn’t asked about it, bless him, but it’s becoming increasingly hard to keep things from him. There always seems to be some sort of Ministry document on one of his tables or a magical book left open on the couch, and he’s been forgetting to stow away his quills and ink pots and charming his _Daily Prophet_ and just the other day Harry said he could’ve sworn the curtains moved on their own. Everything is getting just too overwhelmingly difficult for him.

And today, January the 31st, he finally hit his boiling point. It was Harry’s turn to come over for dinner, and while Louis was unpacking ingredients for a delicious pasta dish he found a recipe on the Internet for, Harry mentioned he had to use the bathroom and disappeared upstairs. After five minutes had passed though, Louis decided to check on him and found the door to his bedroom ajar. His stomach dropped. _Merlin’s left bollock._

And there Harry was, perched on the edge of his bed reading the pile of Ministry reports Louis was leafing through before Harry arrived. He has a furrow between his brows that tells Louis that he’s seen more than he should have.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

Harry jumps, scattering the sheets of parchment. He stands from the bed. “Sorry, the window was open. It blew the papers into the hallway. Why do you have the window open in the middle of January?”

“So the owls can get in,” he says it without thinking, stooping to pick up the paper from the floor. Harry bends to help.

“The what? Owls?” Harry starts looking over the sheet in his hands. “Lou...what are these?”

He snatches the paper from him more aggressively than intended. Louis can feel his blood pressure begin to rise, overpowering the chill the open window has left in the room.

“None of your business.”

Harry recoils as if slapped in the face. “Okay—”

" _Please_ , Harry, just go back downstairs. I’ll be there in a second.”

He doesn’t want to blow up at Harry, he really doesn’t, but he can feel the impending outburst crawling up his throat like bile.

“I thought we agreed on no secrets,” Harry says, green eyes swimming with hurt, “and I’m getting the feeling that there’s a lot you’re keeping from me. I don’t appreciate it.”

His hands involuntarily clench at his sides. “You don’t-you don’t _appreciate_ it? Harry, bleeding Bludgers, we all have to keep some things to ourselves! It’s not a fucking crime.”

“It very well should be when it’s affecting you this much, Lou.” Harry matches his tone of voice. “Can’t you just tell me what’s been going on with you? I’m worried, you’ve barely spoken to me these last few days.”

Louis notices the pleading look in his eyes, he acknowledges it, but he just can’t tell him. Yes, he knows that one day he must tell Harry everything about his world, the magical world, but for now, while so much horrible shit is happening in said world, he will never forgive himself should he get hurt in any way because he opened the metaphorical door for him. He wants to keep Harry in his own Muggle world where he knows he’ll be safe.

There’s nothing he wants more than to just vomit everything out and have Harry hold his hand and tell him it will all be alright. But he just can’t.

Swallowing roughly, he says, “It’s nothing.”

Harry sighs, and he sounds like he’s about to lose it as well. “Did you know them? The people in the-the death reports?”

Louis straightens the pile of parchment in his hands. “Leave it be.”

“How _can_ I? You never fucking tell me anything, Louis,” Harry rarely swears. “Are they your friends? Family? I have no idea because you won’t let me in!”

“Jesus, Harry, I said to leave it be! You don’t need to bloody know everything!”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“I think I’m just going to go home.” And he disappears down the hallway, down the stairs. After a pause the front door slams shut.

It takes Louis longer than he’d like to admit to be able to get his legs moving again. Swallowing down a lump in his throat he crosses the living room towards the fireplace.

“Your young man didn’t look too happy when he left.”

Louis ignores his grandfather's portrait and unlocks his Floo with a wave of his wand, sticking his head into the green, awaiting flames. He emerges in Niall’s living room where the man in question is sitting on his couch reading a worn copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

“Niall.”

Niall looks up from the book on his lap and smiles tiredly. “Hey, Lou. How may I be of service?”

“I mucked up. Can I come through?”

“I’ll get the Butterbeer.”

**_◊◊◊◊_ **

“So, what are you going to do?”

Niall drains the rest of his bottle of Butterbeer. Louis has been chewing his ear for the better half of an hour now, steadily filling up on bacon sandwiches, which is what Niall considers dinner. He vented until he had nothing left to spew and Niall, bless him, sat next to him listening with rapt interest.

He shrugs, picking up a lone piece of bacon sitting on his plate and popping it in his mouth. Niall snaps his fingers and two more sandwiches each appear before them. He always was better than him at non-verbal spells. Especially when it came to food. “I truly don’t want to tell him. I mean, it’s not vital, is it?”

Niall gives him a slightly dubious look and scratches behind his ear. “Well, if this relationship means anything to you, I think you need to be truthful with him. You can't hide your magic forever.”

Even if he could, he doesn't think he would want to.

“What are you so afraid of?” Niall asks in a very un-Niall-like tone of voice. He sounds a bit like Louis’s mum.

“I—”

“And _don’t_ say that it’s because you don’t want Harry to get hurt. Plenty of witches and wizards have Muggle partners they have to tell about magic all the time! Want to know what I think? I think _you’re_ afraid of getting hurt.”

Louis stares at him. That’s…quite right. _Damn him._

Noticing the look on his face, Niall gives a small noise of triumph. “I’m good at reading people. I should be a Seer. So tell me; what do you think will happen if you tell Harry you’re a wizard?”

Louis eyes the empty Butterbeer bottles with a dry mouth. “We’re going to need something much stronger for this.”

So they side-along Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron and order two large glasses of Firewhisky.

Once Louis takes a sip from his slightly steaming glass, reveling in the way the drink burns his throat going down, he relaxes into his chair and says, “I’m afraid of him leaving me.”

Niall considers him for a moment, taking a long pull from his own glass of amber liquid. He belches unabashedly and a tiny plume of smoke escapes the corner of his mouth. “I think it would take a lot more for Harry to leave you, mate. Honestly. You two are like-like two pea pods.”

Louis laughs despite himself. “You mean two peas in a pod?”

“That’s what I said.”

He shakes his head, fingering a groove in the wooden table. The pub around them is alive with chatter and the familiar white noise helps calm his nerves a bit.

“Isn’t your dad a Muggle?” Niall asks suddenly and Louis looks up at him to see a flicker of understanding pass through his dark blue eyes.

He gives a tiny nod and hides his face in his glass as he takes another sip of whisky.

“He left Mum right when she told him she was a witch. He took one look at her wand and just… _left_.”

Louis takes another much longer sip.

Niall bobs his head a few times in sympathy, inspecting his own wand which is sat next to his glass. “That’s _him_ though. Your mum has said before that your dad was a right dingbat anyway. Harry Styles is one of the most understanding guys I’ve met. I’m sure if you tell him, he’ll take it in stride. Harry isn’t your father.”

Louis mulls this for a moment and concludes that Niall is absolutely and utterly right. Again. _Bugger._

“That's what I thought. Do you want to go see him then?”

He picks his head up quickly. “No, no, not right now. I’ll give it until tomorrow. Maybe I’ll text Liam and see if he’s spoken to him.”

He fishes around in his pocket for his cellphone and sends Liam Payne a short _Liam, have you talked to Harry at all tonight? Louis._

He'd ask Harry’s sister considering they live together, but the lovely _if you hurt him I'll kill you_ speech she gave him when they first started dating sits at the forefront of his mind.

The response comes in almost immediately and Louis’s pulse quickens.

_Haha you text like ur sending a letter! Harry just left mine. Still quite upset tho_

Louis shows Niall the message before pocketing the phone again. Two witches were staring at the device warily.

Niall rubs at his scruffy chin. “Want me to go get him? I hate using your stupid cellyphone.”

That actually doesn’t sound half bad. They haven’t had drinks with Liam in what feels like a lifetime.

“You know what? Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, be back in a mo’.”

“Don’t splinch yourself.”

Niall Disapparates with a flip of the bird and Louis is left at the table alone for only a moment or two before he returns with Liam Payne clutching at his arm, looking positively green.

“Oh man, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

Louis thumps him on the back in a friendly manner when he pulls up an empty chair and positions himself in between him and Niall. It’s always refreshing to be around Liam. He’s a Muggle through and through, but after dating one of their good friends Zayn Malik for a long while, he could very well pass for a half-blood. He’s quite glad that even though he and Zayn split up last year that he still hangs around with them. Louis holds a special place in his heart for Liam Payne for he’s the one who introduced him to Harry.

Louis and Niall were good friends with Zayn Malik during their Hogwarts days, and when Zayn started dating Liam Payne, who he had met while exploring Muggle London, it thoroughly surprised Louis and Niall, Niall especially, since Zayn comes from a pure-blood family that still follows their brutish ideals. And then Liam introduced them to his best friend from high school, Harry Styles, and the rest is history.

“Firewhisky?” Niall offers his glass to Liam but Liam waves him off.

“No thanks, that stuff gave me the worst sore throat last time I drank it. I’m good for now; Harry and I had a few glasses of wine before I left.”

Louis runs a hand through his hair. “How mad is he?”

Liam shrugs one shoulder, looking around the pub with curious eyes. “Not mad, just hurt.”

He almost wishes he were angry with him instead.

“You didn’t tell him that I’m a wizard, did you?” He knows Liam would never do that, but for some reason he can’t help but ask.

Liam looks at him then. “Not my place to tell, bro. I just kept saying I had no idea what had you so miffed. Which I really don’t.”

He flicks his wrist dismissively, downing the rest of his drink. “Just some Ministry rubbish you don’t need to worry about.”

Niall hums in agreement, watching an attractive witch pass by their table in interest.

Liam nods, not pressing for information. There would be no need for him to; what happens in the wizarding community doesn’t concern him anymore now that he is no longer seeing Zayn.

A few weeks ago, he got the opportunity to work with his childhood idol Charlie Weasley in Romania by a referral from Ron Weasley and quit his job at the Ministry almost immediately. He and Liam decided that it would be best to end things then and there. Wizard/Muggle relationships are one thing, but a wizard/Muggle relationship that's also long distance?

“So are you going to tell him then?” He asks Louis.

Niall’s words echo in his mind; _Harry isn’t your father._ He sighs. “I suppose I’m going to have to, yeah? I…see myself being with him for a while and it's true that I can't keep something this big from him forever.” How much longer would he be able to hide it without Harry leaving him for good? And besides, he doesn’t really have a choice now, does he? He’s just going to have to swallow his apprehensions and just _do it_.

“Yeah—”

A woman’s scream shatters the cathartic atmosphere of the pub. Everyone falls silent, looking towards the door, and Niall and Louis are on their feet in an instant. They hurry outside into the frigid night air with their wands held out and stop short at the scene before them.

There’s a man on the ground, seemingly Stunned, and standing over him is another much younger wizard, holding the tip of his wand to a woman’s throat that he has backed up against the brick outside of the pub.

“Hey!”

He turns towards Louis, flicks his wand as if he’s a pesky Glumbumble, and Louis can feel a searing pain tear through the side of his face and a trickle of something warm run down his jaw. Momentarily blindsided, he hisses and slaps a hand over his cheek.

_"Avada—”_

_“Expelliarmus!”_ Louis shouts and the wizard’s wand flies out of his hand and lands somewhere behind Louis. Niall pushes past him and tugs the sobbing Muggle woman into the pub.

The man looks at Louis with a sick grin on his face. Louis quickly shoots him with an _Incarcerous_ and he falls to the ground beside the unconscious wizard as thick ropes wrap around him, immobilizing him.

Wand held out before him, Louis approaches him slowly, heart beating erratically against his ribcage. This is it, he’s caught the wizard behind all of these damned Dark Marks _—_

“Louis Tomlinson. You’re off-duty, am I right?”

Louis quirks a brow, not letting his aim waver. Liam hands him the mans discarded wand and Louis nudges him back with an elbow to the ribs.

“Who are you?” He’s vaguely aware of the growing crowd around him, of the pub owner telling everyone “don’t worry, he’s an Auror.” Niall creeps around Louis and grabs ahold of the Stunned wizards arm and Disapparates.

“A faithful supporter of the Dark Lord,” a collective gasp rings out into the still air.

Louis squares his jaw. _“Stupefy!”_

**_◊◊◊◊_ **

Louis doesn’t realize how late it truly is until Harry Potter and Ron Weasley arrive at the Ministry not long after him, bleary-eyed and in their pajamas.

Kingsley Shacklebolt helps him strap the unconscious perpetrator down into a chair in one of the many interrogation rooms at the Ministry and reawakens him with a flick of his wand. A Quick-Quotes Quill and a piece of parchment are floating midair near Shacklebolt’s head, ready to record everything said.

“Ah, hello Minister.” The wizard says after blinking into focus, voice oily and sneering.

“Who do you work for?” is the first thing Weasley asks.

The man, who couldn’t be older than twenty-five now that Louis can see him properly in the light, blows a long strand of sandy-blond hair from his face. “Why do you assume I’m working for anyone? I’m hurt, Minister.”

Sighing, Shacklebolt holds out his hand. “Auror Potter, Veritaserum.”

Potter steps forward and hands him the small vial of clear liquid. Louis notices a flicker of trepidation in the wizard’s mud brown eyes. Shacklebolt uses one strong hand to grab his jaw and force his mouth open while the other one pours exactly three small drops of the potion onto his tongue. Almost immediately he sobers up in the chair against the ropes that bind him to it.

“Now,” Shacklebolt says calmly, “what is your name?”

“Stephen Nott,” he says monotonously.

Weasley and Potter glance sideways at each other. Louis knows what they must be thinking; Robert Nott was a notorious Death Eater back during the First and Second Wizarding Wars; his son Theodore was in Potter and Weasley’s year at Hogwarts and was also rumored to have been a Death Eater. This isn’t off to a very good start.

“Any relation to Robert Nott?”

“He’s my great-uncle.”

Shacklebolt hums thoughtfully and places his hands behind his back.

“Are you a Death Eater like him?” Potter questions.

“Yes.”

“Are you the one who’s been killing Muggle-borns and sending up the Dark Marks?” The Quill is zooming across the parchment next to Shacklebolt.

“Yes.”

“Tell me why.”

Nott grips the sides of the chair white-knuckled, mouth moving against his will. “The others have chosen me to send out the message of the return of the Death Eaters. They told me who to kill, when to do it, and where.”

Shacklebolt takes a moment to gather his thoughts and scratches at his chin.

Potter steps forward. His hair is more unkempt than usual but his green eyes are boring a hole into Nott.

“Who is your leader?”

“Our allegiance is to the Dark Lord, Harry Potter. We want to carry on his legacy.”

“And what would that be?”

The next words that come from his mouth send an uncomfortable shiver down Louis’s spine.

“To rid the magical world of Mudbloods and those alike.”

Louis sees Potter go rigid, hand gripping his wand to the point where it looks like it hurts.

“What do you mean by _‘those alike’_?” Louis finally finds his voice and Nott looks at him with a sick smile on his lips. But they all know what he means.

“Squibs. Filthy Muggles that commingle with our kind. Those who are _unworthy_ of having our magic shared with them.”

Louis stares at him.

“I understand your little boyfriend is the kind of scum I’m talking about, Tomlinson,” Nott says, obviously straining as hard as he can against the Truth Potion. A vein bulges on his forehead. It takes an insane amount of magical ability to overpower Veritaserum and Louis is too stunned to even register what he’s saying.

“We’ll get him soon enough! And your Mudblood wife, Weasley! The Dark Lord would be proud of what we’re doing!” He’s screaming maniacally now, leaning forward against the ropes. “The wizarding world will be pure once again!”

Shacklebolt steps in front of Louis and Weasley, who are both seconds away from tearing his throat out, and points his wand at Nott. _“Stupefy!”_

Nott falls limp in the chair.

“I think we’ve heard enough,” the Quick-Quotes Quill and parchment vanishes. “Auror Weasley, would you mind accompanying me to Azkaban? I’ll be sure we get more out of him there.”

Weasley, Shacklebolt, and Nott disappear and Louis is left staring at the now-empty chair in bewilderment. He feels like his insides have completely frozen up, like he just got hit with _Petrificus Totalus_ ; he’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore.

Potter places a comforting hand on his shoulder and Louis turns to face him.

“Do you really think Harry’s in danger?”

Potter removes his hand from his shoulder, sighing. “Honestly, Louis, after three deaths so far, I would take what Nott has revealed very seriously. You did say that the woman he was after tonight was a Muggle, right? Hopefully Kingsley and Ron get a few more names out of him before the Dementors have their way with him.”

He’s suffocating. “This is bad…innit?”

Potter sighs. He suddenly looks much older than he is. “It feels like it did before.”

“What should we do?”

He scratches at his forehead, pushing the thick black hair aside so Louis is momentarily presented with his infamous scar. A tiny seed of something that feels a lot like _hope_ plants itself in his belly at the sight. “I’ll Floo to St. Mungo’s to talk with Horan and the victims, then I’ll owl the _Prophet_ and arrange a brief statement to be published in tomorrow’s issue, letting the public know that we are officially under a Code Black situation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: kiilerqueer  
> tumblr: harryswilde


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking a million years on this chapter...enjoy!

_ Today is Harry’s birthday. _

The thought occurs to Louis just as he’s clambering through his living room fireplace in a mess of soot and sweat. He turns and squints at the old clock sitting on the mantel to see that it is indeed after midnight. It’s February 1st. With everything going on, it completely slipped his mind, and now he doesn’t even have a  _ gift  _ for Harry. He feels like shit.

The house is dark and quiet and the sudden buzz of Louis’s forgotten cellphone from the back pocket of his Muggle blue jeans startles him. The muscles in his arms protest as he pulls it out to find a text from Liam lighting up the screen.  _ Niall brought me home. Hope ur alright xx _

He sighs, throwing the stupid thing at the couch where it disappears somewhere between the cushions and pinches the bridge of his nose with more force than necessary. He’s glad his friends got home safely, of course he is, but while they’re off to bed, he still has to deal with Harry, who probably went to sleep upset with him. And now Louis is about to drag him into this terrible, unsafe  _ mess _ . What a way to start your 23rd bloody birthday.

Louis stands in the middle of the room, eyes closed and trying to quell the nerves that have been jangling since the mess at the pub. His entire world is about to turn upside down, if it hasn’t already after the events of the past hour.

His grandfather lets out a loud snore from his frame just as he Apparates to Harry’s flat.

He appears at the foot of Harry’s bed as quiet as a Puffskein, where Harry is tucked beneath the covers, the only part of him visible being a tuft of dark curly hair against the stark white pillow. An empty wine bottle sits on the bedside table beside a box of tissues and Louis bites the inside of his cheek.

Sitting next to him on the edge of the mattress as gently as possible, Louis pulls the duvet back to reveal his sleeping face. Harry’s eyebrows are drawn slightly and his nose twitches at the sudden intrusion of cool air. Louis would be endeared were this any other night. Fuck that, he  _ is _ endeared and his throat suddenly feels thick with emotion. Louis watches him sleep for a few more seconds, stomach clenching painfully. It feels almost blasphemous to disturb such a serene moment.

Finally, he places a palm between his bare shoulder blades and whispers, “Harry.”

Harry rouses and presses his face further into his pillow.

“Love. Wake up.”

“Hmph.”

_ “Harry.” _

Harry cracks open his eyes and squints at Louis through the darkness. “Louis?” His voice is deeper than usual, thick like molasses from sleep and it warms Louis’s insides.

Louis stands from the bed and flicks on the light. Harry hisses quietly and pulls the blankets over his head again. Louis pulls them back once more. The bags beneath Harry’s eyes that stare back at him cause a lead ball of guilt to settle in Louis’s stomach. He never,  _ ever _ wants to be the reason that Harry looks like this, so  _ tired _ .

“Harry. This is important.” He surprises himself at the sternness of his tone. He’s never spoken to Harry like that before. Before yesterday, at least.

Harry glares at him, usual bright green eyes darkening infinitesimally. “I hope you’ve come to apologize— _ what did you do to your face?” _

He climbs out of bed and onto his feet, the sheets tangling around his ankles in his haste to reach Louis. A hand stretches out towards his face and Louis slaps it away lightly, rubbing his throbbing cheek against his shoulder to wipe away some of the sticky blood on his skin.

“It’s not a big deal.” He says weakly.

Harry drops his hand to his side. “You’ve  _ got  _ to be kidding me. You show up in my bedroom in the middle of the night,  _ bleeding _ , to what? Have a cuppa?”

Louis breathes in deeply, holds it for a beat in his chest. “I’ve come to explain everything to you.”

Harry can’t hold back his surprise and he lets out a little breathless chuckle. “ _ Really? _ Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Well. I guess I will make some tea then.”

Harry runs a hand through his bedraggled hair and slips past him out the room without a second glance. Louis follows with a quiet sigh. He sits at the table while Harry fills the steel kettle under the tap and sets it on the stove. He leans up against the counter, watching him steadily with his arms crossed over his chest to hide some of his bare skin.

“Are you in trouble?” He finally says amidst the scrutinizing gaze he holds Louis down with. “Is that what this is? Because you can tell me, Louis—”

Louis holds his up hand. He needs to collect his thoughts.

Harry shifts his weight to his other foot, gaze never wavering.

Holding his breath, Louis pulls his wand from its spot in the waistband of his jeans and places it before him wordlessly. Harry quirks a brow and steps to where Louis sits, bare feet padding softly against the linoleum flooring.

“What’s this?” He picks the wand up and inspects it with nimble fingers. “A stick?”

His wand could be a bit more attractive, sure, but a  _ stick _ ? Really? Louis wants to laugh at the pure innocence behind his words. What he’s holding could possibly be one of the most powerful weapons in the universe. 

“It’s my wand.  Hawthorne wood with a phoenix feather core.  I got it when I was eleven.” Somewhere in wizarding London, good old Garrick Ollivander is nodding his head in approval.

“A wand,” Harry lays it back gently on the table. “A  _ wand _ .”

Louis doesn’t know what to say. Harry is staring at him with an indecipherable expression on his face that’s making his stomach churn.

“This is your explanation? Really?”

“Well—”

“A fucking  _ wand  _ doesn’t tell me shit, Louis!” He whisper-yells. “It doesn’t tell me why you won’t let me sleep over yours, it doesn’t tell me why I can’t meet your mother, or your siblings, or visit you at work. It doesn’t tell me why you’re sitting in my kitchen in the middle of the night bleeding from your cheek.”

He’s crying now, he’s  _ crying _ . His nose glows red like a beacon and his chest is hiccuping with suppressed sobs. Louis can tell this has been building for a while now and it makes him feel all the more worse.

“Harry…” Why can’t he find his  _ words _ ? He’s never been so speechless in his life. And now, of all times.

Harry presses the tips of his fingers into his eyes. “I have given myself to you in every sense of the word and I feel like I’ve gotten nothing in return.”

It stings, but Louis knows it’s the truth.

“I want you, Lou, I want  _ all  _ of you. I thought maybe you’re just a private person, which I can respect, but then there was those papers I found, and  _ that— _ ” he gestures to Louis’s face, “and now I know you’re hiding something. This isn’t going to work if we’re not honest with each other.”

“I am hiding something.”

Harry nods and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. “Okay, okay. Do you feel like you can’t tell me?”

And now Louis is the one to get choked up. He doesn’t deserve Harry. 

“I want to tell you  _ everything _ , H. Everything. I should have been truthful with you from the start, I’m so bloody sorry.”

Harry takes a few tentative steps towards him, laces his fingers in his hair. Louis shuts his eyes against the sensation.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

He holds onto Harry’s hip, curls his fingers into the soft skin. “I know.”

The kettle behind them squeals. Harry presses a kiss to the top of his head and steps away. It’s quiet while he prepares them two cups of tea.

“Is it bad?” Harry asks, turning back to face him.

He thinks of Patronuses. He thinks of Hogwarts and the dancing jinx and Crups and how it feels to watch your favorite Quidditch team win a game. And he smiles. “It’s wonderful. And I can’t wait to share it with you.”

Louis can see the relief flood Harry’s face, but then he frowns. “Then why has it taken you so long?”

“I’m scared of what you’ll think. What you’ll think of me.”

“Louis, love, if it’s nothing bad, like you’re a convict or something, then there’s no reason to be scared. Just tell me. Let me in.”

That gets Louis’s pulse racing. It’s now or never.

Harry turns back to tend to their tea, and Louis picks up his wand.

“Harry, look at me.”

He looks over his shoulder, one hand on the sugar bowl. Louis points the tip of his wand at his cheek with a slightly shaking hand.  _ “Episkey.” _ His face feels hot, then cold, as the cut heals itself. He winces, still not quite used to the sensation of his skin suturing itself back together.

He chances a glance at Harry to find him gaping.

_ “Tergeo.” _ The semi-dried blood vanishes from his face and the collar of his jacket and now Harry is taking a few tentative steps towards him.

“Lou…,” he whispers, “how are you doing that?”

He swallows and tightens his grip on his wand. “I’m a wizard.”

“I— _ what? _ ”

“I’m a wizard,” Louis repeats, louder this time. Confidence begins to bloom in his belly. “I can perform spells and jinxes and curses and—”

“Stop.”

He stops.

Harry studies him for exactly ten seconds before he’s pulling out the chair across from Louis and sitting heavily in it. “You can do magic.” It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

“That’s what you’ve been hiding from me. Magic.”

Louis casts a silent  _ Lumos  _ and watches as the light from the tip of his wand illuminates Harry’s face.  _ “Magic.” _

Harry stares at him, unblinking. Unmoving. “Do something else.”

“ _ Accio _ tea.”

Their two mugs of steaming tea land gently on the table between them. Harry pushes himself back onto his feet and back, back, backs up until he’s bumping into the refrigerator. 

“What the  _ fuck _ .”

He sounds disbelieving, bordering on alarm, and the confidence that was unfurling in Louis’s stomach shrivels like a piece of parchment held to a flame and is quickly replaced by an erratic heartbeat. He stands.

“Why don’t you sleep on it,” he says desperately.

Harry is pale in the dim kitchen light. “I don’t believe it.”

Louis swallows down the urge to say  _ “but you have to”. _

He thinks of the first time Harry kissed him.  _ “Expecto Patronum.” _

The familiar electric blue and silver stag bleeds from the tip of his wand and prances around the kitchen in a blur of blinding light. Harry’s green eyes glow sapphire as he watches it. The stag bounces around the walls silently for a while before crashing through the line of windows in the living room and disappearing out into the night.

“You’re a wizard.”

“Yeah.”

Harry visibly swallows.

“Harry…”

He looks at him.

“What are you feeling?”

“Ask me again in the morning.”

Louis holds out his hand and Harry takes it, albeit a bit hesitant. He doesn’t think about it. “Sleep over mine?”

The surprise is evident on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Grab your keys.”

“Your keys?” He asks.

“I didn’t drive here.”

Harry looks at him in question, but doesn’t say anything more. He fetches his belongings and they leave the quiet flat, mugs of tea forgotten.

**_◊◊◊◊_ **

Louis awakes to the sound of pecking against his window, and for a split second he thinks it’s just any other morning. That is until he rolls over to find Harry snoozing peacefully next to him with his hand draped over his stomach and his leg hanging off the side of the bed. And then he remembers; today is the first of this new norm with Harry.

He presses a kiss to his unaware forehead and smiles when he crinkles his nose weakly. He pays the post owl and brings his  _ Daily Prophet _ downstairs into the kitchen where he doesn’t charm it. He doesn’t freeze his photographs, or change the radio station. He’s sure Harry will be intrigued by  _ The Weird Sisters’ _ odd, rocky sound when he finally wakes.

“Hey, Pop?”

“Good morning, Master Louis!” Poppy looks over her shoulder where she’s cooking breakfast at the stove on her little wooden stepstool.

“Do you think you could bring Harry his breakfast upstairs to him when it’s ready?”

Her already-abnormally large eyes widen even further and she stumbles on the stool before grabbing onto the counter to keep her balance. “Mister Harry Styles is being  _ here _ ? Now?”

It’s as if she’s never been in the presence of a Muggle before! Although, if he thinks about it, she probably never has, for house-elves usually only serve pure-blood families. He nods, rolling up his paper and tucking it under his arm. With a few intricate waves of his wand, he makes up two large cups of coffee.

“I told him I’m a wizard last night and I think it’s about time he met you. What do you say? Can you be friendly towards a Muggle?”

“Any friend of Master Louis is a friend of Poppy’s! Oh, how wonderful,” She hastily piles two plates with crispy bacon and pancakes loaded with fresh berries and dripping with maple syrup and hurries to follow Louis up the stairs.

He nudges the door open with his socked foot and sees Harry is still seemingly dead asleep, except now he’s star-fishing on his stomach in the center of the bed. Louis smiles fondly and sets the two hot cups on the nightstand. 

“Wakey, wakey, birthday boy,” He whispers in his ear. 

Harry grins into the pillow.

“It is Mister Harry Styles’ birthday, Master Louis, sir?”

At the sound of Poppy’s unfamiliar voice, Harry knits his brows together and peeks over his shoulder. Spotting the small house-elf in the doorway, he flips over and backs up into the headboard. At Harry’s sudden reaction, Poppy startles like a mouse and lets out a squeak of terror, throwing the two plates of breakfast into the air dramatically. Louis whips out his wand with his Auror-quick reflexes and freezes the plates midair with a non-verbal  _ Wingardium Leviosa _ before they topple to the floor.

Harry is looking wildly between the floating dishes and Poppy, who is holding her hands over her bat-like ears and trembling.

“Oh god, it wasn’t a dream,” he says breathlessly, eyes wide.

Louis sits down next to him on the bed, being careful not to jar their floating breakfast too much. He gestures for Poppy to sit down as well and she hesitantly climbs onto the end of the bed.

Kissing Harry on the cheek, he says, “no, it wasn’t a dream.”

Harry groans and drops his head into his lap.

“Harry?”

Harry picks his head back up. The bags beneath his eyes are a nasty shade of purple. “Too much cheap wine always gives me a killer headache. Do you have any,” he glances warily at Poppy, “paracetamol?”

Lowering the plates onto the bed between Poppy and Harry, Louis dashes out of the room and into the bathroom. He sifts through the collection of tiny vials in his usually-locked medicine cabinet, pushing aside various sleeping draughts and pain remedies until his fingers land on a bottle of Pepperup Potion. As he walks back out, the linen closet door quivers.

In the bedroom, Harry has his plate propped on his lap and is lifting a piece of bacon to his mouth while staring at Poppy with uncertainty. Poppy has her legs crossed and is watching him with a happy smile. Louis hands Harry the glass phial and Harry takes it with pinched brows. 

“What is this?”

“It’s a sort of hangover cure. Well, it’s actually used for the common cold, but the symptoms aren’t all that different, are they?”

Harry shakes the orange liquid around. His lips quirk down. “What’s in it?”

He counts off on his fingers. “Two pinches of crushed Bicorn horn, Mandrake root, three sprigs of English thyme, five drops of salamander blood, and four Fire Seeds.”

_ “Blood?” _ Harry says incredulously. “You’re kidding if you think I’m going to drink  _ blood _ . I’ll just take the painkillers.”

He tries to hand the potion back. but Louis pushes his hand lightly. “H, I’ve been taking this since I was a boy. I wouldn’t give you anything that could hurt you. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times you were feeling poorly and I wanted to whip you up a potion. Just drink it, will you?”

Harry gives the bottle one last unsure look before pulling off the tiny cork with his fingertips and downing the potion like a shot. He gags and Louis is afraid he may actually sick up, but then the color returns to his cheeks like ink bleeding onto paper.

“That tasted like arse.”

Louis bites back a laugh ad takes the vial from him. “How do you feel?”

“Fine—”

And then there are two small jetstreams of smoke spouting from Harry’s ears. Harry slaps his hands over his ears. Poppy starts laughing, clutching her belly and rolling over on the bed. The smoke dissipates not ten seconds later and Harry begins laughing as well.

“What in the world was that?”

“Common side effect,” Louis says, smiling. “Nothing to worry about.”

Harry, cheeks rosy, says, “I guess I do feel much better. You should’ve been giving me your potions before! When I would get that nasty hay fever! Slipped it into my tea or something.”

“Harry, I would never medicate you without your consent.”

Harry shrugs, popping a blueberry into his mouth. 

After watching their exchange silently, finally Poppy decides to speak. “It’s very, very wonderful to finally meet you, Mister Harry Styles. Poppy has heard much about you, oh yes.”

Harry stills, strawberry halfway to his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Poppy is a house-elf,” Louis tells him. “She helps with the cooking and the washing and such. And she’s not a bad roommate either.”

Poppy hides her face behind a corner of the duvet. The tips of her ears that poke out are a brilliant shade of scarlet.

“She was a house-warming gift from my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Mum is a witch, yes.”

Louis can almost see the cogs turning in Harry’s head. “I don’t know why I figured you were the only one. Are your siblings witches too? Your step-dad?”

He nods.

“That’s why I never met them,” he says thoughtfully.

“A houseful of underage wizards would be trouble waiting to happen. I was raised in the Muggle world, but the others, they live and breathe magic.”

At this point, Louis is quite certain Harry isn’t going to finish his breakfast. While his plate is almost licked clean, Harry’s pancakes are getting soggy and sad-looking. Only half of the berries are gone.

“Muggle?”

“Non-magical person. Like you.”

He’s quiet for a second, then holds his hand out. “Can I have my coffee, please?”

Louis passes him his cooling mug and Harry takes a large, nervous gulp.

“Is this too much for you?”

“It’s a lot,” Harry says, swiping his tongue over his teeth. “But it’s not too much. I don’t think. Tell me more.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. There’s a lot we need to catch up on.”

“Start with Hogwarts,” Poppy stage-whispers. “Or Harry Potter.”

“I think I’m going to take a shower,” Louis says instead, rising from the bed. “I feel very grimey from last night.”

“What happened last night, Master Louis?”

“Just a scuffle at the Leaky Cauldron. Nothing for you to worry about, Pop.” He holds his hand out for Harry to take. “Care to join me?”

Harry pushes his plate aside and takes Louis’s hand, touch as light as a feather, and Louis leads him down the hall into the bathroom. He lets go of Harry’s hand to shed yesterday's clothes. 

Harry, silently, takes a seat on the closed toilet. 

“I can tell you're just bursting with questions,” he runs the water suffocatingly hot and revels in the steam it produces. 

“I am. But I don't know where to begin.”

Louis ducks under the spray and pulls the shower door shut. Harry's silhouette is mottled and blurry through the glass. 

“Let's start with last night then, shall we? Harry, my dear, you've been under the impression that I sell drills for my stepfathers company, when in reality I am something called an  _ Auror _ .”

“An Auror?”

“Like a…magical cop. Keeper of the peace, or something.” He squeezes a generous amount of shampoo into his palm and scrubs his scalp until it tingles, wondering just how he should go about this. 

“There is Dark magic, and wizards who perform such magic, and I'm one of the people who try to put a stop to that.”

“Is it dangerous?”

He frowns. “It can be. Very. As of late, there is an influx of Dark magic in the wizarding community; people are being murdered in broad daylight for silly, prejudiced reasons. Last night we finally caught the one who's been doing it.”

“That’s...good.”

“But it's not, Harry,” he tells him. “It was just a warning.”

“A warning for what?”

“Ask me about something else, you don't need to be burdened with such information on your birthday.”

Louis can hear Harry stand from the toilet and begin brushing his teeth at the sink. The running faucet causes the shower to run the slightest bit cold. 

“Where do you learn magic?” Harry asks through a mouthful of toothbrush and paste. He should really buy Harry his own one of these days. Though he supposes once you've had someone's tongue down your throat, it doesn't really matter if you share toothbrushes.

“Is there a school? For magic?”

Ah, there it is. The golden question. It always surprises him when he remembers that Muggles know nothing of Hogwarts.

“Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, yes, founded in 990 A.D. by four of the greatest witches and wizards to ever live…”

He tells Harry of the four Houses, of his favorite classes and professors and the House Cup. And his chest feels a little lighter talking about it all. Talking about home. 

Harry has his back against the sink when Louis pops the shower door open, sopping from head to toe. The frigid air hits him like a truck and he quickly grabs his towel from the rack on the wall and wraps it around his waist.

“What House were you in? I’d probably be in Hufflepuff.”

Louis snorts at the accuracy and steals a minty kiss from him (he's quite sure his own mouth doesn't taste so fresh). Harry would fit right in with Hufflepuff House. He’d probably even be best friends with Professor Sprout. “I’m a Slytherin, Niall a Hufflepuff, and Zayn a Ravenclaw. The Sorting Hat nearly put him in Slytherin too, though. Which I always thought would suit him better.”

“Niall and Zayn are ones too? What the fuck?”

Louis uncaps his toothpaste and brushes the taste of morning breath and maple syrup from his tongue. “They sure are.”

“Does Liam know?” Harry asks conspiratorially. 

He hums an affirmative.

“So did Zayn really leave to work in another country, or was that just a cover-up for something more… _ magical _ ?”

_ Ah _ , Louis thinks,  _ he’s catching on _ . “Well, he really did move to Romania,” he tells him, spitting down the drain, “but the ‘ _ exotic animals’ _ we told you he was going to work with are actually dragons.” Which breed was he currently studying again? The Antipodean Opaleye? The Hebridean Black? He doesn’t remember.

“ _ Dragons? _ ” Harry's eyes are bright, shining emeralds. “Like in Game of Thrones.”

At that Louis actually laughs out loud. “I suppose so, yeah.”

He opens the medicine cabinet to retrieve his bottle of mouthwash and swishes a capful in his mouth for a few seconds. While the door is open Harry reaches in and plucks out a stoppered vial of hiccoughing potion.

“What does this one do?”

“Gets rid of hiccups. Go on, try it.”

“It won't, like, backfire since I don't have the hiccups?”

“Just drink it, you goon,” Louis picks his wand up from the floor where it was hidden beneath his pile of dirty clothes and spells himself dry. 

Harry takes the smallest sip from the tiny bottle and makes a face. “It tastes almost as bad as the last. Do they all taste so dreadful?”

“Unfortunately. I tried to make mine better-tasting than the ones at the shops, but potions are so delicate that it’s very easy to mess up the recipe and create something that may be lethal.”

He remembers the first time he tried to brew a potion with a different flavor, it was for extra credit in Professor Slughorn’s class in his sixth year. He thought adding a few pomegranate seeds to his cauldron of homemade Skele-Gro would do the trick, but after seeing the potion start to turn a nasty shade of black, Slughorn informed 16-year-old Louis brightly that the seeds counteracted with the Chinese Chomping Cabbage and if anyone were to consume the potion, all the bones in their body would evaporate and they wouldn’t be able to ever grow them back.

Ever since then, Louis stuck with following the recipe word for word and not caring about the foul taste of his potions. He's sure if he had more time on his hands he'd be able to figure something out, considering his hidden talent in potion-making, but for now he really doesn't mind so long as the potions work properly. 

“Why bother making them yourself then?”

“Well, it’s cheaper than buying them, and I’m not half bad at it either, so. I passed all my Potions classes with flying colors.” It’s true, Potions was the only class he received an O in every year; the headmistress nearly convinced him to become a Potioneer after graduation! Sometimes he laughs when he remembers how disappointed she was when he told her he got his Auror apprenticeship.

“Do you have a cauldron?” Harry asks, replacing the bottle and shutting the door. 

“I do, in my potions lab across the hall.”

“You do  _ not _ have a potions lab.”

“Oh, but I do. Follow me.”

Louis opens the door to his lab with a quiet Alohomora and flicks on the light. The room is about half the size of his own bedroom, and the walls are lined with custom shelving full of jars and bottles and books, and in the very center of the room is a great black cauldron on a tall podium. 

“My boyfriend is fucking Elvira,” Harry says, gaping at the room. 

“She was actually a witch, you know. Very talented.”

“A witch and not a vampire? Surprising. You told me this was the guest bedroom, what else are you hiding from me in this house? A dungeon?”

“A dungeon, he says!” Louis exclaims and shuts the door. “No, I don't have a dungeon, love. There's nothing else too exciting for you to see in here.”

Louis grabs his ball of soiled clothes and drops them into a hamper in the corner of his bedroom. With a flick of his wand he sends the towel around his waist back into the bathroom and he stands stark naked in front of his open wardrobe.

“Wear these,” Harry hands him a pair of boxer briefs. “They make your bum look fantastic— _ ooh _ .”

He shoves his hands eagerly into Louis’s small collection of wizard robes, disappearing up to his elbows in bright fabrics. Before today he would usually shrink them down with magic and hide them in one of his dresser drawers, but there’s no point now. Mouth slightly agape, Harry pulls out his ruby Auror robes and holds them against his own chest. The color makes his eyes pop.

“What is  _ this _ ?”

The tips of Louis’s ears heat up at the amusement in his voice. “I wear those to work.” He never gave a thought about how odd traditional robes might look to Muggles.

Harry chokes on his laughter. “God, it looks like something Mr. Darcy would wear.”

Louis snatches the robes back and hangs them up. “Though I’m only half the romantic he is.”

“If that’s not a lie, I don’t know what is,” Harry tells him, still rifling through Louis’s wardrobe. He takes out shirt after pants after sweater and holds them up against Louis’s almost-bare body until he finally decides on a black turtleneck and trousers and a fitted pewter blazer that, as his mother would say, does wonders for his figure.

“I’m dressing you up because you owe me a date.”

A date! Of course Louis owes him a date, today is his  _ birthday _ . And he hasn’t made a single plan for the day...

“Well don’t look so scared, Lou,” he gives a nervous chuckle.

Louis takes his hands. “I’m going to be completely honest with you; with everything going on lately, I forgot about your birthday. I didn’t even get you a  _ card _ .”

Harry looks at him thoughtfully, then says, “well I forgive you. Considering what you've been going through with your job, and all.”

Louis kisses him on the mouth. “I don't deserve you.”

“You really don't. You better make it up to me today.”

“I will,” he says, but his mind is spinning. Where should he take him on such short notice? He’s always been terrible at spontaneity.

Harry pockets his keys and it breaks Louis from his thoughts.

“You’re leaving?”

“Just to get dressed, don’t worry.”

He shuts the door to his old wardrobe. “What do you want to wear? I’ll run and get it for you.”

“No, Lou, it’s okay—”

Just then, Harry’s cellphone rings from his pocket.

“You should get that. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Harry nods and places the phone to his ear. “I want the white shirt with the ruffles and my black flare trousers. I’ll just wear the boots I wore here last night. Mum? Hi, Mum!”

Louis Apparates to Harry’s flat with a smile and retrieves the outfit he described. Luckily his sister wasn’t home; he didn’t even think of that. He can’t afford to be getting careless. When he arrives back to his bedroom, Harry looks at him with wide eyes and says into the phone. “Louis is taking me out today. Where? Uh…here and there, you know. Yes, I got Gemma’s text. And Dad’s, yes, Mum.”

Louis’ lip twitches and he drapes the clothes over the edge of his unmade bed. By the time he’s finished lacing his very nice shoes, Harry is hanging up the phone.

“Dare I ask how you did that?”

“It’s a difficult process. Best not to wonder.”

Harry dresses silently, and just as he’s buttoning his pants Louis takes him in his arms.

“I don’t think I ever gave you a real apology last night.”

Harry leans back, hands spread over Louis’s chest. “You did.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

He studies the wall behind Louis’s head. “I don’t fully understand much of anything yet, and I still feel like I’m dreaming, but I’ll be okay with it. I will.”

He leans in for a kiss and Louis meets his mouth with a smile. His worst fear was proven to be nothing more than paranoia. He can’t say as much about the happenings at the Ministry though, unfortunately.

_ “Mail’s here!”  _

The familiar sound of the mail slot breaks the comfortable silence and Louis excuses himself to retrieve it. There’s a small pile of mail sitting at the bottom at the stairs. Skipping his Muggle mail as per usual, he first comes across a letter from Niall and reads it as he ascends the staircase.

 

_ Lou, _

_ Brought Liam to St. Mungo’s last night and then Apparated him home. Floo’d to the Ministry and spoke with Shacklebolt, Weasley, and Potter after you had gone. They filled me in on everything. How are you holding up? We have a lot of work to do as Shacklebolt and Weasley got a lot of names out of Nott last night at Azkaban. Hope to see you at work today. _

_ NH _

 

“Lou?” Comes Harry’s hesitant voice and Louis looks up from Niall’s letter to find him staring at the mail in his hands with wide eyes. “What’s smoking?”

Brows furrowed, Louis looks down and sees a bright crimson envelope that was hidden under Niall’s message spitting out smoke like a tea kettle.  _ Oh fuck _ . He quickly opens the Howler and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

“LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON,” comes his mother’s booming voice from the envelope, “HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT IN DIAGON ALLEY. I HAD TO HEAR IT FROM  _ NIALL _ EARLY THIS MORNING! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED! YOUR SIBLINGS AND I HAVE BEEN WORRIED SICK! DAISY, PHOEBE, AND FÉLICITÉ USED THE HEADMISTRESSES FLOO TO COME HOME AS SOON AS THEY GOT THE  _ DAILY PROPHET _ AT BREAKFAST BECAUSE THEY WERE SO SCARED! I BETTER HEAR FROM YOU AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS OR I AM COMING OVER THERE MYSELF!”

And with one last frustrated groan, his mother’s voice dies out as the envelope fizzles into a pile of ash and the room is left in silence. Louis pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and drops his mail onto the bed. He figured Potter would put some vague mention of what took place last night at the Leaky Cauldron in this morning’s paper, so what did his sisters read in there that made them  _ leave Hogwarts _ ? 

“Was that your  _ mum _ ?” Harry gapes.

Louis nods absently, picking up the forgotten  _ Daily Prophet _ and shaking it open. And sure enough, right there on the front page is a large looping photograph of Louis disarming Stephen Nott with the headline  **_AURORS CAPTURE DARK WIZARD OUTSIDE OF THE LEAKY CAULDRON_ ** and underneath that, “turn to page three for details.”

He flips open the paper hastily and scans the page. There, right in the center, is the article. He groans when he sees who’s written it.

 

**Danger in Diagon Alley!**

_ By Rita Skeeter _

 

Late last night, Aurors Louis Tomlinson (25) and Niall Horan (23) were sharing a drink with their Muggle friend Liam Payne (23) whilst off-duty at the Leaky Cauldron when a large explosion rang out, causing the foundation the foundation to shake, and silenced every patron in the pub. Wands out and drinks forgotten, the two highly skilled Aurors rushed outside to be met with a gruesome scene before them: a wizard, who we later found out was none other than former Chaser of the Chudley Cannons, Dragomir Gorgovitch, was on the ground and bleeding from every orifice in his body, allegedly. Not three feet away was Stephen Nott, great-nephew of former Death Eater Robert Nott, holding the Muggle wife of Gorgovitch in the air by her ankles with the underrated Levicorpus jinx. Above them all loomed the malevolent Dark Mark, undoubtedly cast into the night sky by Nott. 

Tomlinson and Horan withdrew their wands and battled with the Dark wizard in a maelstrom of jinxes and hexes and nasty curses until finally Tomlinson was able to disarm him, just as Nott was about to cast the Unforgivable  _ Avada Kadavra _ . Bleeding and exhausted, three of his fingers missing, Tomlinson brought the convict to the Ministry where he was dumped into the hands of Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and Head Auror Harry Potter and Senior Auror Ronald Weasley while Horan took the two victims to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries where they received immediate care. Their conditions are still unknown. Niall Horan and Louis Tomlinson, on the other hand, are said to be recovering well.

Harry Potter, once widely known as  _ The Boy Who Lived _ or the  _ Chosen One _ , has issued the following statement amidst this tragic incident:

_ “While the events that took place last night are terrible, we as a community must begin to take precaution. This is the fourth attempt in a string of murders that the Ministry has been currently investigating for the last few weeks, and the perpetrator from last night’s case, Stephen Nott, has confessed to the murders and Dark Mark’s and has also given us plenty of insider information under the Truth Potion  _ Veritaserum _. He has revealed that there is a new army, a new  _ generation _ , if you will, of Death Eaters and he claims they will be carrying on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s  _ ‘legacy’ _. I’m sure none of you need to be reminded of what that is. _

_ It is with deep foreboding in which I must announce that as of today, the wizarding community is under a  _ Code Black _. Below is a list of names that Stephen Nott has exposed as the  _ Neo-Death Eaters _. If you know anything about any of these Dark witches and wizards, do not hesitate to contact a Ministry worker. Please stay safe.” _

 

Louis scans through the given names and vaguely recognizes only a few surnames. He sighs, closing his eyes briefly; he could laugh at how inaccurate and glamorized the account of last night’s situation was, but the sick feeling in his stomach over all this is much too overpowering. 

This is it, this is the beginning of what could very possibly turn into the Third Wizarding War.

“Louis? Is everything okay?”

He looks up from the  _ Prophet _ . Harry is watching the moving photograph on the front with a line between his brows. Louis crumples the paper and Vanishes it and Harry flinches slightly. He knows telling Harry he’s a wizard was just the tip of the iceberg, but  _ galloping gargoyles _ , he’s not ready for this.

Smiling weakly, he holds out his hand for Harry to take and says, “I need to make a few calls. Come downstairs with me?”

Harry visibly bites back a frown and follows him down into the living room. Poppy is nowhere to be found and Louis figures she must be hiding in her room. When he kneels in front of the fireplace, Harry says from the couch, “here’s your phone, Lou. It was wedged between the cushions.”

Louis sits back on his haunches, the sunlight streaming through the windows warming the morning chill in his bones. “Us magical folk have other ways of getting in touch with one another. For instance,” he gestures to the fireplace, “the Floo Network. It can be used as a means of transportation by stepping into it, or as a form of communication by simply sticking your head into the flames. All you have to do is take a bit of Floo Powder…”

He reaches up to grab the small clay jar from the mantel and sits back down with it in his hands. Harry gapes at him open-mouthed, still holding his cellphone. 

“You told me those were your  _ grandfather's ashes _ !”

“I beg your pardon?” the portrait over the fireplace says gruffly.

Harry lets out a startled shout and promptly drops the phone to the floor where it clatters against the hardwood.

“Harry,” Louis says, throwing a pinch of gritty powder into the flames where they roar tall and emerald. He sets the pot onto the hearth beside him. “Meet my grandfather, Leonard Poulston. Grandfather, this is my boyfriend, Harry Styles.”

He can half hear the portrait yawn and greet Harry as he announces Niall’s address and plunges his face into the fire. Harry lets out a gasp that sounds muffled and distant. The flames tickle his throat and the acrid smell makes him wrinkle his nose as the seemingly-vacant living room comes to view. 

“Niall?” Louis calls.

There’s a thud and hurrying footsteps and Niall appears before the fireplace, robes askew and a half-drunk glass of pumpkin juice in one hand. He leans over and Louis immediately notices that his eyebrows are a stark red. Despite the worry unfurling in his belly, he snorts. And then chokes as he sharply inhales ashes.

“How very  _ Gryffindorian _ of you,” he wheezes.

Niall groans, sipping at his juice. “Feck off, you. I was trying to touch up my roots—you know Glamour Charms were never my strong suit! What do you want, I’m late for work as it is.”

Louis shifts on the hearth, all traces of humor gone from his system. “I just wanted to, er, update you…on the Harry situation,” he’s sure Harry can hear every word he’s saying behind him, but he doesn’t care. There’s nothing else to hide. “I’ve begun to tell him things about the wizarding world…and stuff. Also—I’m not coming in today. Can you let Potter know?”

He can see that Niall is absolutely bursting to ask him how it went, but he just says, “actually, Potter was hoping to talk to you about the whole Nott situation. Why don’t you just fire-call him?”

“Okay, sure. I’ll do that now.”

“How did Harry take it, then?”

“Talk to you soon!” Louis pulls back. He’ll tell Niall everything later, when he doesn’t feel like the whole world is crashing down around him. 

Harry is sitting beside him, cross-legged, staring at the now-empty fireplace. He says nothing as Louis takes another pinch of gritty Floo Powder and throws it into the fireplace, though his eyes grow large as the green flames come to life once more. 

“Twelve Grimmauld Place!”

Plunging his face back into the fire, he now emerges into a large, ancient-looking living room. He’s never been in the Potter household before, in person nor by fire-call, but he doesn’t think it’s changed all that much since the  _ Black _ s occupied it. The room is draped in drab colors and harsh decorative snakes with a large crystal chandelier hanging in the center. It’s very… _ Slytherin _ for a house full of Gryffindors.

“Harry promised Kreacher he’d keep at least one room how it used to be.”

The voice startles Louis, and his eyes land on Ginevra Weasley sitting on the couch directly before front of him with a mug of steaming tea in one hand and the latest issue of  _ Witch Weekly _ in the other. Her auburn hair is pulled up into a tight topknot not unlike Minerva McGonagall, though the smile she’s giving Louis has no hints of exasperation in it. 

Louis fish-mouths a few times, at a loss for proper words. Having Harry Potter as your boss is one thing, he’s gotten over the whole star-struck thing a long time ago, but Ginevra Weasley is the current Chaser for the all-female Quidditch team, the  _ Holyhead Harpies _ ! And he’s never met her in person before (if watching her play doesn’t count), so this is quite huge.

“Pardon?” he says weakly.

She closes her magazine, the smiling face of  _ The Weird Sisters _ ’ lead singer Myron Wagtail winking at him from the cover. “Our house-elf, Kreacher? He’s lived in this house almost his whole life, so Harry wanted to keep a bit of it the way it was for him. But anyways, Louis Tomlinson, is it?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Weasley—uh, Potter—uh, Ginevra,” he bites the inside of his cheek,  _ hard _ . 

She only laughs, freckled nose crinkling in delight. “Please, it’s Ginny. I hate formalities.”

“Ginny,” he nods. “I was just wondering if your husband was home?”

As if on cue, Harry Potter comes shuffling into the living room, hair beyond help as usual and tie sitting around his neck undone.

“Louis Tomlinson is in the fire for you,” Ginny calls over the back of the couch.

Potter looks his way and smiles. “Morning, Tomlinson! Want to step through and have a cup of tea? Maybe a pumpkin pasty? I was just going to bring our daughter to Eeylops before I headed to the Ministry.”

He declines politely, instead saying, “I just wanted to get caught up on the whole...situation.”

Potter sighs. “We didn’t get as much information out of Stephen Nott last night as I thought we would. He gave us, hopefully, all the names of the other Death Eaters, but he didn’t seem to know where any of them were. It looks as if they were using him as a sort of scapegoat, you know? They didn’t tell him anything he needn’t know.”

“Don’t  _ you _ know where any of them are?” Louis asks, throat constricting. 

Potter gives him a sympathetic look and Louis wants to end the call right there. Disappointment and a fresh wave of nerves roil in his belly. Isn’t Harry Potter,  _ the savior of the wizarding world _ , supposed to know these things? 

“All the names we got, we looked into them and couldn’t find anything except their Hogwarts information and their familial history, which, of course, included the Death Eaters they’re related to, whom are all in Azkaban or dead. But we are starting a search today; there’s a few leads we found on some old safe houses across the country that we previously thought were abandoned and we were planning to send you and Horan, along with Ron and myself,” he smiles. “If you’re up for it.”

But Louis doesn’t return the smile.  _ Can’t.  _ “ _ Up for it? _ This isn’t some after-school escapade, Potter! You may be used to diving headfirst into danger but I’m not. We’re on the cusp of something terrible here.” He’s never spoken to the Head Auror like this before, but damn it, he’s  _ scared _ . Not so much for himself, but for his friends, his family, for  _ Harry _ . He’s the biggest risk out of any of them, and if they don’t know where any of these blasted Neo-Death Eaters are, well, he’d rather Harry never step foot outside again. “They know Harry’s a Muggle.” He doesn’t even want to think about how the Dark side found out about him.

Potter searches his face for a few seconds and cocks his head. He doesn’t even seem mad. Gently, he says, “I know what you are thinking, and I will make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

Louis gives him a steely look. “You said just last night that this feels like last time. Like war.”

Potter simply looks at him. A child shouts in the background and Ginny springs from the couch to follow the voice out of the room.

“Louis, I know you’re scared. I know exactly how you’re feeling for I was once in your position,” he pauses to fix the tie around his neck. “We will get through this. And I’ll be honest with you; it might not be unscathed, but it will be  _ alive _ . These Death Eaters have no one to pull their strings this time. Take faith in knowing they have a brain about the size of a Knut.”

Louis wipes his palms on his thighs. His fingers are tingling. “I feel like I haven’t breathed since that first death.”

Potter quirks his lips empathetically. “I know.”

“I, uh, can’t make it into work today, actually. It’s Harry’s birthday and I’ve completely forgotten.”

He drops himself onto the couch. “Take him to Madam Puddifoot’s if you haven’t made plans already. She always makes it looks so lovely this time of year.”

“But is it safe?” He almost dares not to ask.

“Go,” Potter says. “A few hours in Hogsmeade shan’t make a difference. But I expect you to be at the Ministry tomorrow, okay? We’re going to need your help.”

Louis stays put.

“You’re a very good Auror, Tomlinson. You do your job well.”

It reassures him, just a bit.

He nods, starting to pull back from the fire. His arms are beginning ache from holding himself up on the hearth. “I’ll talk with you soon.”

When Louis sits back on his haunches, Harry’s arms are immediately around his neck.

“I have no idea what you were talking about,” he says against his cheek, “but I love you.”

Louis closes his eyes against hot tears that threaten to spill and squeezes Harry tightly. His body is a warm, comforting weight against his and he never wants to let go. “You know what I was telling you upstairs? How some Dark witches and wizards are trying to kill people for stupid reasons?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes.

“You’re one of those people.”

He hears Harry suck in a sharp breath and he pulls back almost at once. His pink lips are quirked down in a frown that Louis never likes to see. He wishes he could just kiss it away, but it’s not that simple. It never is.

“What?”

“They have a weird obsession with racial supremacy and believe in purifying the wizarding community. That the non-magical are inferior and must be eradicated. Especially the ones that...consort with us.”

Harry nods along, but still looks perplexed.

“They want the wizarding world to be ruled by pure-blooded wizards only, whom have no Muggles in their lineage. Understand?”

“What does that have to do with me then?”

“You’re  _ dating  _ me, Harry.”

And it clicks.

Harry’s hands fall to his lap. “But…”

Louis shakes his head and takes Harry back into his arms. “I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry. I hate to be such a downer, especially on your birthday, but you have to know of these things if you’re-if you’re going to be with me. There are some very bad people in our world, just as there are in yours. There have been  _ wars _ . The last war ended almost twenty years ago, but some people are determined to keep it going. But I’ll be sure to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“Are you sure?” Harry sounds so small, so confused.

Louis pulls his wand from the waistband of his jeans and holds it up. “As long as you’re with me, and I have this, no one will be able to hurt you. I promise.”

Harry pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and hesitantly leans forward, but before they could kiss, there’s a flash of green from the fireplace and they both startle apart, hands shooting out behind them before they can fall. 

“Louis William!”

Louis’s mother is stepping into the living room with an apron on and her hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. When both her feet are planted firmly on the hardwood, she looks down at her son sitting on the floor and puts her hands on her hips. “I was expecting you to call right when you got my owl! Oh, hello Harry, dear.”

Louis climbs to his feet and holds his hands out for Harry to take. Harry pulls himself up and stares at his mother with a nervous smile painted on his strawberry lips.

“Good, uh, good morning, Mrs. Deakin.”

“Mum, I was just about to call, I swear. I had a few other people to talk to first.”

Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. “More important than your own  _ mother _ ?”

“Well, I had to talk to Harry Potter, so…”

Jay  _ hmph _ ’s and her arms drops to her sides. “Fair enough. But don’t you ever scare me like that again! Are you all right? Do you have all your fingers? Oh, you haven’t been in a mess like that in ages! I thought you were finished messing about with the Dark side.”

“I’m fine, mum. Just took a nick to the face a bit. Nothing I couldn’t spell away. That awful Skeeter woman loves to print rubbish.”

She cocks her head and frowns, then pulls him against her bosom in one swift movement, catching him off guard. “I’m glad you’re safe, poppet. This whole  _ Code Black _ thing is such codswallop, innit? You’d think that after You-Know-Who was killed, those nasty Death Eaters would have gotten the message!”

“His name, Mum. Don’t forget to say his name. And there’s always going to be wizards who think they’re better than others,” Louis reminds her gently, pulling away. But she does have a point; for the most part, after the Battle of Hogwarts, it seemed as if there was finally peace, like maybe the blood prejudice had finally been destroyed. But, he figures so long as there are pure-blood families, there will always be some form of bigotry. And he says that in the nicest way possible for one of his best friends is a pure-blood (though he’s quite sure Niall would wholeheartedly agree with him).

His mum wipes soot from the fireplace off the front of her dress with a small sigh, a strand of hair coming undone from her ponytail to hang loosely in front of her face. “Hopefully this all blows over soon. I don’t know what we’ll ever do if there’s another war! Especially now that our family is much bigger than it was the last time.”

Louis’s heart clenches at that and he notices then just how much his mother has aged since the Second War. She’s birthed and raised seven kids and it definitely shows in the lines around her eyes and mouth. The thought of her possibly going through a third war, of any of his siblings going through something so traumatizing…it breaks his fucking heart. He can’t let it get that far. He won’t. 

“Hear, hear,” his grandfather crows from his frame, startling Louis out of his thoughts. Harry is looking at him with that soft bloody look of his that makes him want to cry.

Jay looks up and gives her father a sad smile. “Hullo, Dad. You’re looking over my boy, I’m sure?”

Leonard places his hand over his chest in faux-offense. “Why, of course I am, Johannah! Been looking after his handsome fellow there as well, even if he didn’t always know it.”

She startles suddenly and looks to Harry as if this is the first time she’s noticed him there. Her eyes grow wide. “Oh, dear, Louis—I—”

Louis smiles gently, waving his hands. “It’s fine, mum. I-I told Harry last night. Because of everything that’s going on.”

Jay visibly relaxes, reaching her arms out to rest her hands on Harry’s shoulders. Her face is glowing and fond; Louis feels a flush of something that feels a lot like pride.

“I’m so sorry you have to be dragged into all this, love,” she says, voicing the exact thoughts that he’s been having for the last few weeks, and Harry just smiles at her. He has no idea how bad things really are right now, bless him. He wishes it could stay like that. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you.”

She pulls Harry into a motherly hug and he makes a small noise from where his face is squished against her chest. “Good to meet you, too, Mrs. Deakin.”

“Mum, you’re suffocating the boy,” Louis tells her with a smile, a hand on Harry’s lower back. 

Jay lets go of him and tucks his hair behind his ears.

“Come for Sunday dinner this weekend, won’t you?” She asks Louis, still fussing over Harry’s hair. “It’s been so long since you’ve been home, Lou, everyone misses you terribly. And you can help me with those Doxies I told you about; they’re pesky little buggers!”

“That sounds fantastic, Mum,” Louis beams. “Shall I bring Harry?”

“Of course I’ll go!” Harry crows. “It’s about time I meet your siblings, Lou!”

His mother claps her hands together gleefully and even his grandfather’s portrait sighs in delight like he’s been waiting for this moment. “Oh, wonderful! Come ‘round at four, that’s when the girls will be home from school. We’ll have a wonderful time; Dan and I are making steak and kidney pie.”

Though he quite literally just had a very nice-sized breakfast, Louis’s stomach grumbles at the thought of a big homemade meal. Poppy is a fantastic cook, of course, but there’s nothing quite like his mum’s food. He hasn’t been home in such a long bloody time because of how busy the Ministry has been keeping him (and with the pettiest offences known to wizardkind until recently, nonetheless), so the thought of spending an evening with his siblings and Harry  _ at the same time _ sounds wonderful.

“I can’t wait, Mummy.”

Jay touches the tips of her fingers to her lips briefly and Louis is suddenly concerned that she’ll turn into a blubbering mess, but with one large breath, she pulls him towards her with her hands on the sides of his face and kisses his forehead fiercely.

“My big boy, oh how I adore you.”

Louis succumbs to her coddling and just laughs. “Mum, please, not in front of Harry.”

Harry and his grandfather’s portrait snicker behind their hands.

After promising his mother profusely that he’ll be safe, she kisses them both on the cheek in farewell and climbs back through the fireplace. Louis hopes his siblings can sleep a little more soundly in their dormitories tonight.

When the green flames die down, Poppy appears before them with a  _ crack _ . Harry startles into Louis’s side and he puts out an arm to steady him. He’s more than used to the suddenness of Apparition.

The house-elf flicks her bony fingers and the soot and ash littering the floor vanishes and she disappears as quick as she appeared.

Harry takes a deep breath next to him. “I feel like I’m in a movie.”

Louis looks at him, squeezing his waist. “I hope it’s a good movie.”

He bobs his head a couple of times. “I sure am enthralled so far.”

“How could you not be? We have all the angst one could hope for.”

Harry gives him a warm kiss and makes for the stairs. “I’m just going to brush my hair, yeah?”

Louis follows him upstairs with a finger in his belt loop. While Harry veers off towards the bathroom, Louis turns into his bedroom to quickly make the bed and grabs his wallet from his nightstand. There’s a thud from down the hall and with pinched brows Louis jogs into the bathroom to find Harry sitting on the tiled floor, hairbrush in hand.

Louis places his hands on his hips and looks down at him. “All right?”

“The mirror said hello.”

“And I told him he looks lovely,” the mirror huffs. “Is that a crime?”

Pulling Harry to his feet, Louis says, “no, but it can be quite startling, especially this early in the morning.”

Harry stares at Louis in the reflection of the mirror, lips parted and eyes wide. “I thought you said there weren’t any more surprises in this house. Do wonders never cease?”

Louis takes the brush from his hand and runs it through the seemingly-hopeless mass on top of his head. “When it comes to magic, it’s highly unlikely.”

Harry turns to look at him face to face. “Can anything else in here talk? Besides the painting in the living room?”

“No, since this is a Muggle house. I got the mirror from my mum’s house though. As a hand-me-down. Now if you went to Niall’s flat, I think his kitchen cabinet talks.”

“That’s sick.”

“I can assure you the cabinet is quite healthy,” the mirror says.

Louis and Harry laugh at their reflections.

After they’re both primped and preened and ready to go, Louis helps Harry into an extra set of thick winter robes he thinks Zayn left over a long while ago. Eventually Poppy reappears with a handful of gold and slips it into Louis’s own robe pocket. He sticks his hand into the opposite pocket and pulls out his leather wallet.

“Well, that just won’t do!” His grandfather’s portrait sing-songs.

Louis shakes his head and hands the wallet full of Muggle money to Poppy. “Accidentally grabbed this. Bring it back upstairs for me?”

The house-elf bobs her head. “Of course, Master Louis, sir! Have a safe trip!” and she Disapparates.

Harry adjusts the robes around his neck, pulling it more snug over his shoulders. “You use different money?”

“Mm. Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. A Galleon is worth about…five pounds?”

Harry screws his face up. “Just one more thing that makes no fucking sense.” He claps his hands together. “Okay! The clock is  _ tick, tick, ticking _ . Where are we off to?”

Louis walks over to the fireplace and grabs the jar of Floo Powder. “Hogsmeade in Scotland. It’s a quaint little Wizarding village right near Hogwarts. On most weekends the students visit for the day. Do some shopping, have tea, all that jazz.”

He turns around with the jar in his hand.

“Scotland?”

“Yeah?”

“How…are we going to be getting to Scotland, might I ask?”

Louis gestures behind him. “We’ll travel by Floo. It’s the safest form of magical transportation.”

Harry looks wary. “Isn’t there any other way? A  _ Muggle _ way, perhaps?”

“Not unless you want to take a seven-hour train ride,” He reaches for Harry’s hand. “I wouldn’t be making you do this if it weren’t safe, Harry. Come on. I get to work like this every day.”

Harry purses his lips but takes Louis’s hand and lets himself be pulled in front of the fireplace. Louis holds out the jar. 

“Take a pinch, step into the fireplace, throw the powder down, and say,  _ very clearly _ ,  _ Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. _ Got it?”

Harry takes a bit of the gritty powder between his thumb and forefinger and looks at the dark fireplace with a slight frown. “Will it hurt?”

Louis smiles and squeezes his shoulder with his free hand. “Keep your arms to your sides and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

Harry  _ hmph _ ’s under his breath and steps up onto the hearth, ducking into the fireplace. Louis waits with his breath held as Harry swallows thickly, throws the powder to his feet, and yells “Madam Puddlefoot’s Tea Shop!”

Salazar’s balls, did he just say  _ Puddlefoot’s _ ?

Scrambling to grab the acceptable amount of Floo Powder, Louis places the jar on the hearth and shoves his way into the smoking fireplace. The last thing he hears before throwing down the powder is his grandfather saying, “I do believe he said the wrong thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: kiilerqueer  
> tumblr: harryswilde


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